


In Sickness and in Health

by Pholo, sheithfromvoltron (theeShadyLady)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Sick Keith (Voltron), Tumblr Roleplay, Whump, galra specific sickness, mighty and i feed on pain, why can't these boys just be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeShadyLady/pseuds/sheithfromvoltron
Summary: Keith didn’t seem to realize he was under surveillance. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and the color was gone from his cheeks. A flicker of anxiety caused Shiro to slow his pace. He fell into step with Keith as they walked down the hall.“You all right?” Shiro asked, as innocently as possible. He didn’t want to seem overbearing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just so sick I thought you might be here. But you di-disappear. 
> 
> Now I wake up and I forget that you were gone. A phantom limb is all that I am hanging on. So don't stop, no stopping it yet. What if the one true love's the only one that you get?
> 
> And you've been wishing but you don't know how to stay.
> 
> —Marianas Trench, "One Love"

* * *

**Pholo:**

They were on their way to the training deck for some group exercises when Shiro caught a glimpse of Keith out of the corner of his eye. 

It was an unguarded moment; Keith didn’t seem to realize he was under surveillance. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and the color was gone from his cheeks. A flicker of anxiety caused Shiro to slow his pace. He fell into step with Keith as they walked down the hall. 

“You all right?” Shiro asked, as innocently as possible. He didn’t want to seem overbearing. “You look a little tired today…”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

At Shiro’s mention of looking tired, he straightened up. “I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well I guess,” he shrugged. “Probably thanks to your snoring on the other side of the wall.” Forcing a smile, that probably looked more like a grimace, Keith picked up his pace to prove his point.

Once they reached the training grounds though he was felt even worse. Something akin to hell seemed to be playing just under his skin and it was honestly an effort just to keep upright. He was out of breath. His limbs were heavy. And he was  _freezing_ yet somehow felt like he was overheating. Telling himself it was probably just the food goo finally catching up to him, he pulled out his bayard.

He could handle this. Training always made him feel better anyway. He was fine.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro decided not to pester Keith. All the paladins were under the weather, one way or another. Defenders of the universe didn’t get days off. Shiro was grateful for the daily grind–when he was busy with Voltron, he didn’t have time to dwell on his past–but even Shiro was starting to wither under the strain. He was going to have to talk with Allura soon about a team vacation.

The other paladins looked up as Shiro and Keith entered the training grounds. The team gathered into a huddle, and for a time Shiro’s anxiety was buried under talk of training regiments. His good mood persisted throughout a series of warmups–then the paladins partnered up amongst themselves, and Shiro remembered the circles under Keith’s eyes. He started, feeling a pang of guilt. They were to fight a newly-designed training bot (courtesy of Pidge)–one programmed to analyze and exploit their weaknesses. If Keith was feeling tired or sick today, he could get seriously hurt.

“You sure you don’t want to tackle this tomorrow?” Shiro suggested, as the others discussed who would go first. There would have to be a repeat fighter, given that there were only five paladins altogether. “There’s no shame in taking a break.”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Warms up were a disaster. Keith could usually keep pace with Shiro and not even break a sweat, but today that was not the case. When the five of them paused to discuss the new training bot, he could feel himself trembling though thankfully his armor seemed to make it less noticeable. There was also the problem that he was panting so hard his visit kept fogging up and he was so light-headed that he had to constantly check himself to make sure he was still standing.

Yanking off his helmet a mess of dark sweat-matted hair was unveiled and he drew in a hard breath taking in the new air. “Shiro, I’m fine,” he hadn’t really heard what the lead paladin had been saying, too busy swiping at the damp bangs plastered to his forehead.

He glanced around trying to remember what they were doing.  _Training bot_. Shiro’s words slowly registered.

“I’ve got this,” his voice was a his as he slapped his helmet back on. Deciding to switch from Shiro as his partner, he stepped into the training area, “Pidge, start the program and get in here.”

* * *

Apparently Pidge had done a great job at designing a program that updated itself because not three minutes later the two of them were exclusive on the defensive. The bot had learned to protect its legs and weaker joint areas from Pidge and had adapted to carrying a long metal spear to keep Keith at a distance therefore avoiding any close-range fighting.

“Pidge!” the name ripped from Keith’s throat seeing her suddenly crumple to the ground after a being kicked in the chest. He lunged, focused solely on getting the bot’s attention away from her dazed self and back to him. But when he hit the ground it knocked the last bit of breath he’d managed to hold on to right from his lungs.Fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit right there on the floor, Keith scrambled to his hands and knees, but didn’t get any further than that. Coughing and trying to suck in all the air he could, he was too distracted to notice the bot preparing to deliver a final blow. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Pholo:**

Shiro sees the bot slice downward with its staff, and he doesn’t stop to think. “End training sequence!” Shiro bellows, and the sound reverberates through the gym. The bot stutters once, as though considering its options, then goes stiff and ramrod still, the electric tip of its staff an inch from Keith’s throat.

The relief courses through Shiro like a wave. He abandons the viewing area, not turning when the other paladins move to follow, and rushes down the stairwell to the main floor.

“Pidge; Keith!” Shiro demands, as he steps out onto the lower level. Pidge is crouched on her knees, winded but outwardly unharmed. She looks up as Shiro approaches, an almost guilty expression on her face. Keith, however–Shiro takes in the sound of Keith’s ragged coughing, and he knows he’s made a big mistake. How could he have let Keith train when he was so obviously sick?

Shiro reaches Keith with a sharp clap of boots; he ducks onto his knees, resting a hand on Keith’s back. On impulse, he runs his palm up and down Keith’s spine. “Keith,” he says again, quieter this time. “Can you stand?”

He’ll carry Keith to his room, Shiro thinks. He’s not wearing his helmet, so he can’t ask Allura whether or not she thinks a healing pod is in order. Reluctantly, Shiro peels his gaze from Keith’s hunched back; he asks Lance, who has his helmet under one arm, to radio Allura about the state of the cryopods. Shiro wonders if they’re capable of curing half-Galran illnesses.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

this point he’s mostly wondering how he hasn’t collapsed back down to the floor. “Shiro?” he rasps. His own voice sounding rough and distant and if he hadn’t felt his mouth move, Keith wouldn’t have believed it was him who’d just spoken.

Something brushes his back and it makes him feel weak; he shouldn’t need this. “I’m fin—I’m fine…”  _When did Shiro get here?_  He’s tipping towards the lead paladin before he even realizes he’s doing it and it takes feeling his forehead rest against a familiar chest and a scent that he could only describe as ‘Takashi’ for his brain to catch up. But he doesn’t have the strength to right himself, “Shiro? …I-I don’t… I don’t feel good.”

Another bout of coughs hits him and he can’t think past how much the violent exhales make his chest hurt and his head spin. Keith pushes against the one stable thing he can discern in his fevered world, not realizing that it’s still Shiro that he is anchoring himself to. All he knows is that the closer he gets himself, the warmer he feels and it makes the ache in his body lessen just enough to where death isn’t sounding like a viable option.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro tried for one valiant moment to reign himself in–he was always working to disguise his blatant favoritism–but Shiro’s pulse was racing, and the sound of Keith’s ragged coughing was enough to undo something deep and protective inside of him. Shiro was hugging Keith to his chest before he even realized he’d lifted his arms.

Past his surprise, Shiro caught Lance’s reply. Allura had directed them to the infirmary.

“Stay with me, Keith,” Shiro ordered, preparing to lift Keith off the ground. It would probably be easier to sling Keith over his back, but Shiro elected to carry him “bridal style.” It was something a more conscious Keith would contest, Shiro was sure–and with much vim and vigor. But at the moment, Shiro was more concerned with Keith’s safety than his comfort. If Keith had some choice words to share with Shiro later, then–well. They could worry about that after Keith was healed.

Keith wasn’t exactly a light load, but Shiro’s enhanced right arm helped support his weight. Shiro and the rest of the team dashed down the hall, Keith’s legs swaying slightly with the rhythm of Shiro’s steps. Shiro kept his strides even, aiming to jostle Keith as little as possible, and kept his eyes fixed on the hall ahead of him. His thoughts as he ran were one long string of, “Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…”

By the time the team reached the infirmary, Allura had summoned and activated a pod. It stood on the far side of the room, cool and detached from the scene as the paladins spilled through the doorway. Shiro rushed to the pod before Allura could ask any questions.  

A sane man–a sane  _friend_ –would probably load Keith into the pod and close the door. As it was, Shiro clambered into the pod with Keith propped up under his arms. He arranged them both at the back of the pod, holding Keith partially upright against his chest. 

With a nervous movement, Shiro gestured for the paladins to close the pod door behind him. It wasn’t unheard of, to share a pod with someone–but Shiro had never done it before. There was something different about Keith’s sickness that kept Shiro nailed to his side.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith doesn’t understand why the ground falls away. He doesn’t get why the warmth and stability he’d been clinging to suddenly seemed to surround him. All he knows is that something is very wrong.

“Shiro?” It’s a struggle to get just the one word out, but he manages couple more, “I’m sorry.”  _Sorry for what? For being weak? For switching partners?_ Yes, but it’s more than that.  _Sorry for not saying goodbye on the day he left for Kerberos. Sorry he didn’t look for answers like Pidge had with Matt._

_Mostly just sorry Shiro had wasted his time trying to help him when all he ever did was let people down._

At some point he couldn’t stop the spinning and his muscles all ached and his eyes wanted to close so badly that he gave in; passing out in the safety of the black paladin’s arms.

* * *

Keith’s eyes open to the familiar hiss of an airlock unsealing; his mouth is too dry; lifting his head causes a jolt of pain to shoot down his whole frame and make him realize that he’s crumpled up in a position that doesn’t make sense.

Hands, not his own, were holding him to something. In his groggy state his mind quickly registered that whatever it was —whoever it was— was  _safe_.

Keith’s eyes fluttered open and looked around, “Shiro?” That seems to be the only word he knew. His eyes squeezed shut again as he fought his cough. “Why… Why are you holding me?” His own name echoed in his ears from a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. “Did something happen?” A single cough shuttered through him, “Takashi, what’s wrong with me?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Pholo:**

“We’re not sure,” Shiro told him, “but you’re gonna’ be all right. You’re just a little sick.” Keith’s cough sent a nervous spark down Shiro’s spine. Why was he still sick? 

Shiro helped Keith out of the cryopod; as they stepped onto the deck, he turned to Allura for news. She and Coran were positioned at the monitor, Kolivan standing between them with his arms crossed over his chest. He turned as Shiro and Keith emerged from their pod, frown deep-set on his face. At Shiro’s look, he said,

“It appears to be the vokust fever. It cannot be cured with a cryopod.”

Shiro tried to keep the worry out of his voice: “So what do we do?”

“With time and rest, your paladin should recover,” Kolivan said. The word “should” turned the room cold. “Confine him to bed. Keep him hydrated. Someone will need to stand sentry and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

* * *

Allura helped Shiro carry Keith to his quarters. She looked like she wanted to argue when Shiro claimed the first shift as Keith’s “sentry.” They stood outside Keith’s door, Keith braced under their arms, and Shiro’s calm exterior crumbled under Allura’s hard gaze. 

It was stupid. Shiro couldn’t get this worked up whenever Keith got hurt. It wasn’t fair to the team–to the  _universe_. But Shiro didn’t stand down, and at last Allura relented. She left to help the other paladins prepare some supplies–water, space-grade crackers, an extra blanket–and Shiro led Keith through the doorway to his room.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

At some point Keith noticed Allura was now also holding him and he let out a groan. He didn’t  _want_  to be held. He didn’t  _want_  to be sick. He didn’t want  _Allura_.

There was arguing that he didn’t have the mind to understand let alone reply to. He wiggled in the grasp of the two, pushing at Allura with his feet. She  _wasn’t_  an anchor. She  _wasn’t_  warm. She wasn’t  _Shiro_.

* * *

The paladin fell into bed with a whine he was not at all proud of, he curled himself in a ball right on top of the blankets. He could already feel the ache from earlier creeping back in and wished the mattress would just swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Takashi?” He grabbed at Shiro’s hand, but his depth perception was off and his fingers kept reaching until the fell to the mattress. “Something is wro—” he sucked in a sharp breath feeling like something punched him in the chest and made him once again scramble to his knees, using his fists to brace himself on the bed as he coughed for what felt like hours.

When it no longer felt like he was choking on air he allowed himself to crumple back into the bed.  _What had they been talking about?_  His voice was raw and three times quieter when he attempted to speak again. “I feel like I’m dying,” it was only a little bit of a stretch. And he probably looked the part; trembling, coughing, sweating (but also so damn cold), and three shades paler than Pidge.

He looked up from his defeated position. Easily able to get Shiro in his sight, but not having the focus to lock eyes with him for more than a second or two. “Is that it?” he looked away, terrified of his own question, “Am I gonna die?”

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro dropped to his knees at the foot of Keith’s bed. He cupped his flesh hand over Keith’s right one; Keith’s skin was stark white under Shiro’s fingers, and his hand trembled as he coughed. Shiro clenched his teeth and waited for the fit to pass. 

When Keith spoke, his voice was thin and dangerously quiet. Shiro couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Keith speak so weakly. He felt the air leave his lungs at Keith’s question:  _Am I gonna’ die?_

“No,” Shiro breathed. “Oh, baby–no, no, no.” Shiro didn’t even realize he’d used a pet name. His whole world had narrowed down to Keith’s pained expression; his labored breathing. Shiro moved forward, and the carefully-maintained space between them crumbled like dust under his hands. There was a rustle of blankets, and then Shiro was on the bed, lying on his side with Keith pressed to his chest.

“You’re gonna’ be fine, Keith,” Shiro murmured, his mouth a whisper from Keith’s forehead. “It’s a bad fever, but you’re gonna’ be fine.” Shiro reached around with his prosthetic hand, threading his fingers through Keith’s hair. “Kollivan is in the kitchen with Hunk right now. They’re in a commcall with the Blade’s physician; they’ll be up soon with something to help with the pain.” At least, Shiro hoped they would be. There was no guarantee the ship would have enough herbs to make real Galra medicine. 

“Just focus on me, okay?” Shiro managed, past the doubt. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry. I’m right here…”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith almost never got sick; he  _refused_  to. He didn’t like how he acted when under fever or aid of medicine. It burned away all his masks and filters, leaving behind the scared kid who’s never been anything but abandoned.

Clingy and too honest. That’s who he was at his core. That’s what sickness revealed in him after fogging his mind and stripping him of all the defense mechanisms he’d built himself.

This time was no different. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat and in his finger tips and behind his eyes. Everything hurt and those damn filters were fading so quickly. He didn’t consider even hesitating when Shiro crawled into bed, rather he pressed himself tight, trying with everything he had to get closer (always closer). He didn’t fight away Shiro’s cuddling hands or fingers.

“I always— I always focus on you.”  _Too honest._ And far too gone to realize it.

Keith twisted his fingers into Shiro’s shirt, clutching the fabric like it was trying to get away.  _‘I’m right here.’_  Something in Keith’s mind growled  _LIAR_  in response and it was too convincing to ignore.

“Shiro… you’re gonna leave me again… aren’t you?” He closed his eyes to keep away the spin the room was taking on as well as to block out Shiro. Keith knew the signs of a walkaway joe and it seemed they were written on Shiro's skin in permanent marker. He was too good; too pretty; too put together; too much of everything Keith would never be. And that kind of person had no reason to stick around with him.

Feeling the need to push away; to hurt himself before someone Shiro could even tr. “I don’t… I don’t want you here if you’re… if you’re just gonna leave.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Pholo:**

_I always focus on you._  That got Shiro’s attention. He’d have to pull back to see Keith’s expression, so he kept his eyes fixed on the wall. When Keith’s hands clenched around the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, he untangled his fingers from Keith’s hair, then looped his arm around Keith’s back.

“I’m not leaving,” Shiro said, with as much courage as he could muster. Guilt crushed him like a heel on a spent cigarette. Twice now Shiro had vanished from Keith life without a trace. “Actually–I–“ Shiro struggled to find the right words. His hand trembled once around Keith’s back. "You deserve honesty, Keith. I don’t want to leave. This–I want to stay here, with you.”

Shiro’s voice had started to shake, so he took a moment to compose himself. He breathed huskily, past the lump in his throat, and proceeded: “I’m scared, Keith. Hell, I’m terrified–every day, that something’s gonna’ go wrong and I’ll disappear again. I don’t–” Shiro held Keith close, almost desperately. “I can’t promise that I won’t leave, because I don’t know what’s gonna’ happen today or tomorrow or the next day. But I can promise you that I will fight like hell–with every bone in my body–to stay here with you. I know you probably won’t even remember this conversation, once you’re better, but…I swear. I’d never leave on purpose. Do you understand?”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“I understand, I do.” he nodded, shivering. Shiro seemed to radiate warmth so without thinking he pulled himself closer with the little bit of strength he could manage, “but I don’t  _want_  honesty, Shiro. That’s not good enough. I  _want_  you to kiss me and tell me it’ll all be okay. That you won’t leave.  _Ever_.” Keith whimpered at a weird flutter in his stomach that didn’t feel like part of his sickness. Perhaps it was because part of him knew he wasn’t being fair asking something of his friend that he couldn’t really control, but he was feeling selfish and didn’t care.

“I’m tired of losing you, Takashi. I’m tired of fighting for our lives… for  _everyone’s_ lives. I’m just… I’m tired and I feel like shit and I just need you to lie to me and keep holding me like this.” He nuzzled into Shiro’s shoulder, closing his eyes again, but a knock at the door a second later made Keith jump and subsequently groan as pain shot through his body. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a duller I-can-get-through-this-if-I-just-find-a-comfortable-position type of pain that throbbed just below his skin.

“Keith? Shiro? Can we come in?” Hunk’s voice filtered through the door, taking a little bit of Keith’s attention off how he felt. 

“No!” Keith whined flipping the edge of the blanket over himself and trying to make it reach to Shiro despite the fact that they were laying on most of it. “No, make them go away. I only want you… to take care of me.”

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro’s body short-circuited. Keith had shaken the words out of Shiro’s brain. His chest constricted with a hot, bleeding anguish; an unnamable rush of feeling had his pulse racing, and Shiro was overwhelmed suddenly by the desire to  _protect hold heal…_

“Okay,” Shiro said, once he found the strength to move his tongue. “Okay–I can do that.” Because Shiro could. It would be a relief to escape reality for a while; to indulge in a fantasy wherein he and Keith weren’t always on the verge of death. Shiro tucked his head back on the bed, craning his neck to meet Keith’s eyes–

And then Hunk’s voice cut through the door.  

“Keith–I’m sorry, but if they have medicine, we have to let them in.” It was the last thing Shiro wanted to do in that moment, but he called for Hunk to enter the room. He couldn’t deny Keith medicine.

“Sorry,” Hunk said, upon opening the door. His eyes flashed at the sight of Keith and Shiro on the bed; he read the situation quickly, bless him, and lowered his voice to a whisper: “I’ll just leave this by the bed. Kolivan says we should give him a spoonful every three vargas–? So, like, every two and a half hours.”

“Thank you, Hunk.”

“No problem.” Hunk placed a small vial on the floor beside the bed, next to the Altean equivalent of a spoon. He slunk backward; Lance and Pidge peered through the doorway as Hunk retreated over the threshold. There were a few scant murmurs, and then the door slipped closed.

Silence descended. Shiro let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He ducked down, and pressed a kiss to the top of Keith’s head. It was an impulsive move, born out of anxiety–but Shiro remembered Keith’s words from before, and he didn’t turn his head away. 

Shiro didn’t have to hold back anymore. He didn’t have to monitor his affections. Keith  _wanted_  him to be gentle. He’d asked to be held and consoled. Shiro could be tender, and loving, and  _honest_ , without fear of Keith’s rejection. 

And so Shiro steeled himself, and breathed his next words into Keith’s hair: “Do you think you can sit up for me, sweetheart?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith held back a whimper, burying his face against Shiro’s shoulder. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t want anyone other than Shiro and now he wanted to yell at Hunk for intruding on them, but didn’t have the strength. “Takashi,” he whined, wanting Shiro’s attention back on him, but before he could protest further they were left alone again.

A distant voice in the back of his mind reminded Keith that this wasn’t him. That this wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be whiney or clingy or desperately possessive… or at least he wasn’t supposed to show it. Those thoughts were meant to be kept on lock down in the back of his mind, not slipping from his lips like water from a fountain. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, closing his eyes and trying to fight his weakness back (but God he was so tired). “I can sit,” he heard the pet name, but it didn’t really register, not as something new anyway. In his heart of hearts Shiro had called him this before, many times, in quiet fantasies that he dreamt up where he could call Shiro  _his_  and where they weren’t racing through space on an endless mission and where Shiro was never leaving him.

And right now he wasn’t feeling well enough to separate those dreams from reality.

“Shiro…” he whispered, realizing he was still laying tight to his friend even though he’d thought he sat up a moment ago. But the fact that moving caused him pain, and he currently wasn’t in any, was a second form of proof that he hadn’t was still laying down. “I’m so tired… can you… can you help me up?” The words would have felt like acid —rather than much less difficult gravel taste they had been accompanied by— had it not been Shiro he was asking to come to his aid. “…please.”

 

**Pholo:**

“Don’t worry,” Shiro said, throat tight as he tracked the up-down motion of Keith’s chest. “I’ve got you…Just breathe, honey. Relax.”

Reluctantly, Shiro disentangled himself from Keith’s side. He fumbled over the edge of the bed for Hunk’s medicine. His fingers puzzled out the sealed cap of the vial, then the metal neck of the spoon. Shiro stretched, bringing the objects up over the lip of the bed. His fingers shook a little as he measured out a spoonful of medicine. The liquid smelled something like crushed mint leaves and copper.

“Let’s hope this tastes good,” Shiro murmured, almost to himself. A drop of medicine trickled off the edge of the spoon and onto his shirt, but Shiro didn’t care; he was entirely preoccupied with Keith’s health. 

Shiro shuffled down onto the bed a bit. He tucked his left arm under Keith’s back, unfurling his fingers at the dip between Keith’s shoulder blades, and coaxed the paladin slowly upright. When Keith started to slip down against the bed, Shiro brought Keith closer to his side, cradling him as he brought the spoon to his lips.

“Drink,” Shiro whispered. Against the backdrop of white sheets, Keith’s skin looked paler than ever. There was a sheen to his eyes that made Shiro’s heart lurch. “Just a spoonful. It’ll make you feel better.”

Shiro wondered how much of this event Keith would remember when the fever broke–because the fever  _would_  break. Shiro wouldn’t accept a future without Keith at his side. He’d lost Keith enough times already.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“No,  _you_  make me feel better,” Keith corrected quietly, pushing even closer to Shiro. He could see the worry in the other paladin’s eyes when he looked up and it made him try harder at putting on a brave face. He could be strong for Shiro, just for a minute; just so he could take this medicine and Shiro would stop looking at him like that.

Opening his mouth, Keith leaned forward letting the spoon pass his teeth before   closing his lips around the metal utensil and pulling away. He swallowed hard against the liquid. It wasn’t so bad, sweet and almost—OH! It was cold _. Too cold._  

He pushed Shiro away, coughing and clutching his throat, scraping his nails into his skin as he chased the path the medicine took down from his tongue. A burst of ice seemed to radiate from his stomach where the liquid had settled and tore through Keith’s veins, pulling forth an awful cry. Then… it was over. 

The whole thing had lasted maybe three seconds and left Keith chilled and shaking. “Sh-Shiro?” He looked around, unable to focus. He thought he’d been tired before, but now… now he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. His fever wasn’t broke by any means, but he was down a degree or two and not a minute later, short puffs of breath gave away that he’d fallen asleep, feeling safe despite not realizing he’d somehow curled into Shiro’s lap.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro felt his chest seize suddenly at Keith’s reaction. Panic turned his blood cold as Keith wrenched out of his grasp, hands on his throat as he gagged and spluttered. Desperately, Shiro reached out. His palm found Keith’s shoulder; Shiro leaned down, running his thumb in short circles along the curve of Keith’s shoulder, and murmured at him like he could chant the pain away.

The fit was short but painful. When Keith pitched forward in its wake, Shiro caught him in a scrambling motion. He guided Keith down onto his lap. 

The red paladin was asleep within seconds.

Shiro sat for a long while, gaze trapped on Keith’s face. Some of the tension had left Keith’s body in sleep. Shiro let his shoulders sag. He shuffled across the bed a little, careful not to disturb the man in his lap, so that he could lean his back against the wall. Shiro scanned the room for a time piece. He got lucky; there was a day-ticker on Keith’s table. Shiro nestled in for a two-hour wait, carding his fingers through Keith’s hair when he started to shift in his sleep.

The minutes crept by. Shiro closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall. He was a hopeful person by nature–a fact that had kept him alive as a Galran prisoner, and later as a paladin of Voltron. In the now, as time wore on, doubt made a nest in Shiro’s heart. It was different for Shiro, watching someone he loved suffer under his hands. As Keith’s chest rose and fell, Shiro couldn’t help but fear the worst.

At last the second hour began, and duty shook Shiro from his worry. With great reluctance, Shiro moved to wake Keith, threading his fingers through Keith’s as he said, “Keith, babe…I’m sorry, but you gotta’ wake up. It’s time for your second dose.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith’s rest was relatively painless, only a jolt or two of pain making his eyes flutter open, but soothing touches quickly ushered him back to sleep each time. When a familiar voice called for his attention, an embarrassingly strong burst of giddiness rushed down his spine when the first thing he saw was Shiro. “Hi,” he tried to say, but nothing came out, nor did his hand move when he went to touch Shiro’s cheek.

Panic struck. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare up at Shiro… but the more he looked, the more his friend changed. Eyes, flashing yellow, lips curving up to show wicked fangs, claws scraping through his hair. Shiro’s voice echoed, but it was colder, less… human, and Keith didn’t understand.

The ghost of his fingers rose, curled around the blade under his pillow, knocked the fake Shiro down… but that didn’t happen, he was just staring, watching the fake Shiro look at his mechanic hand and flex his fingers to bring out a purple glow.  _NoNoNo. Shiro!_ The finger hovered over his forehead, invisibly tracing a line down to his nose, then his lips, and fading as it grabbed onto his throat.  _Shiro, please! Shiro! Takashi, don’t!_

Keith’s hands shot up, his body finally responding and letting him claw at the hands on his throat… but there weren’t any there. Throwing his weight forward (as best he could anyway) to knock the fake Shiro back, he laid him flat on the bed, pining his arms. But it was too easy, the impostor wasn’t even putting up a fight.

“Where’s Shir—” Deep gray eyes met his instead of bright yellow. “…Shiro? … What?” Keith stuttered, disbelieving.  _This doesn’t make sense!_  “I saw… you were…”

 _I’m sick_ , his memory caught him up and threw the pieces together, reminding him of the situation.  _It wasn’t real._ A tremble tore through his form as pain finally caught up to his movements and had him collapsing, his arms twisting around behind his friend’s neck. “Fix me! Fix me, I’m  _scared_ ,” he begged, shifting again to grab the sides of Shiro’s face just to prove to himself this was real.

Shiro’s words that woke him replayed:  _‘It’s time to take your second dose.’_  His eyes flashing to the spoon and vile next to the bed, making him bury his face into Shiro’s shoulder.

“Not that!” Keith whimpered, holding tighter. “Don’t make me take it again. Please! Just  _fix_  me, Takashi. I know you can, you can do anything, I know you can fix me!” Of course he knew Shiro wasn’t perfect, that was part of what he’d secretly fallen in love with, but if there was one thing he would always believe in —one person he’d always give all his trust— it would always be Takashi Shirogane.

“Please, Shiro. Please. It hurts so bad, but that stuff hurts, too!”

 

**Pholo:**

Keith woke with a sheen to his eyes. His gaze found Shiro’s, but his mind was elsewhere. There was a scuffle of sheets as Keith regained control of his limbs; his breath became quick-fire and raspy as he clawed at his neck. Shiro started at the sight. He reached out to grab Keith’s hands, but Keith shot up like a firecracker, whipping Shiro down onto the bed and pinning him under his weight.

At Keith’s confusion, Shiro stayed very still. He waited for a flicker of awareness to return to Keith’s eyes. “Yeah, it’s me,” Shiro promised, allowing himself to sink down into the mattress. “I’m right here. I’ve been here next to you this whole time. Whatever you saw wasn’t real.” What had Keith seen? Shiro wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to dredge up the memory. “It’s okay…”

Then Keith collapsed against Shiro’s torso, his hands coming up to cup Shiro’s face, and for a moment Shiro’s mind went blank. In the face of Keith’s desperation, heat swam up behind Shiro’s eyes. He didn’t know what to do. 

Shiro’s hands spasmed up from his sides. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s back, pulling the man flat to his chest. Shiro held Keith like he was afraid he would disappear. His hands trembled along the plane of Keith’s back. 

Shiro wished he could pull the pain out of Keith’s body with his fingertips; he despaired at his own powerlessness. Where he lay below Keith on the bed, Shiro buried his face in Keith’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to breathe through the ache in his throat. There were tears in the corners of Shiro’s eyes that Keith couldn’t see.

“I know it hurts; I know,” Shiro managed, once he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m so sorry. But it’s the only way I can help you. It’s the only thing that can fix this. Please…” Shiro took a deep, slow breath. “Please tell me what I can do to make you take that medicine. There must be something I can do…”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“P-Please, Takashi,” Keith whimpered, clinging to his friend. “Please don’t make me. I can’t… I can’t take it.” He would have cried, but was already so ashamed of himself. It was like the Keith he usually is was still there, but he was only watching instead of controlling his actions. Spectating the chaos quietly like a crowd watching a house burn down, concerned but not doing anything, but still unable to look away.

But the Keith that was behind the wheel currently wasn’t getting what he wanted and he felt a twist of annoyance that made him push away from Shiro. He could tell the lead paladin wasn’t going to give in to his pleas. At least not like this.

So he played dirty.

Blinded by his own pain and fear, Keith decided to throw knives at the one person he cared the most about. “The only way I’m taking that stuff again is if you force me.” Thankfully his voice didn’t shake when said knives seemed to impale his own heart as well. “But if you do that, Shiro, if you do that to me, I will  _never_  trust you again.”

He set his jaw, crossing his arms with as much determination as he could and stared at Shiro, well at the blur that was Shiro, because now his vision seemed weird and he felt dizzy. And  _oh_  everything was hurting again, radiating from his chest and suddenly Keith knew what was coming as sharp pains prickled up his throat making him suck air in painfully as he pulled himself to his knees again. Swaying as he tried to convince his body just to let him lay back down.

But Keith wasn’t one to be told what to do, even by himself and he groaned as the first of the coughs ripped through him, stealing his breath and the little focus he had left. “ ‘ka—shi!” he cried after what felt like an hour of forcing in air only to choke it back out. “Mak’t  _stop_!”

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro felt Keith twist away from his grip; the lack of weight on his chest was suddenly painful. Shiro swiped his flesh hand across his eyes. His body froze up at Keith’s words:

_The only way I’m taking that stuff again is if you force me._

One look at Keith’s face and Shiro knew he was serious. Shiro felt his metal hand twitch on the mattress. Bile bit a trail up his throat. How many times had Shiro dreamt of this—of becoming the monster he was proclaimed in the arena, and turning on the person he loved the most? How many of Shiro’s nightmares had featured a weakened Keith, pale and pinned under Shiro’s weight? How many times had Shiro woken, shaking and crying, convinced that he’d hurt Keith, or even killed him for his own sick pleasure?

_The only way I’m taking that stuff again is if you force me._

“I can’t,” Shiro said. A teardrop hit the bedcovers. This time, Shiro didn’t have the strength to wipe his cheeks. “Please…Don’t make me…”

And then Keith was seizing again, clutching at stray puffs of breath, hunched over on the bed like he was afraid he’d fall apart. It was the sight of Keith’s pain that snapped Shiro from his daze. His body ground back to life; Shiro stuttered to the edge of the bed, leaned down, and scooped the medicine and spoon up from the floor.

“H-hold still, baby,” Shiro managed, sloshing the medicine out onto the spoon. He held the medicine in his left hand, moving to pin Keith with his stronger prosthetic arm. For the first time in his life Shiro hoped Keith wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.

If this proved that Shiro was a monster, fine. If this meant Keith never spoke to him again—fine. Shiro wouldn’t let Keith die. 

“I’m so sorry.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**sheithfromvoltron:**

The realization that he could fight back never hit Keith. He just laid there, staring up at Shiro. His vision blurred further, but he wasn’t sure if it was from sickness or tears. “Don’t,” he begged, but liquid splashed to his tongue in the middle of the word and he swallowed despite himself.

It didn’t seem possible, but somehow this time was  _worse_  then the first. The sensation of ice scraping through his veins lasted twice as long and had him arching against Shiro’s hold in pain. 

It was so cold. He was  _so cold_. Had there ever been anything but cold? Cold and the burning ache of betrayal that cut deeper than any knife could.

Then it stopped.  
Well, the cold did anyway.

Keith crumpled down under Shiro’s touch and now he was crying. Crying. Slapping. Clawing.  _Anything_  to get the traitor off him.

Anything to get Shiro to just  _leave_.

He’d rather have someone else here.  _Anyone_ else. Hell, he’d even prefer Lance to Shiro; none of this would have hurt so bad if it had come from him instead.

Keith couldn’t even look at his friend. No, not his friend.  _Not anymore._  He just wanted Shiro out.Gone.Away. And now those word-like knives from earlier readied themselves in his throat and he let them out in a hiss of “I.Hate.You.”

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro could feel his chest splintering, the world falling out from under his hands.

Over the course of a day, Shiro had watched a Galra fever lay waste to every one of Keith’s defensive walls. Shiro had found someone raw and desperate under the rubble. Selfishly, Shiro had wanted to believe that this was the real Keith; a Keith who craved Shiro’s affection.

But if this was the real, unfiltered Keith–

Shiro choked back a sob. What had he done?

He should leave. He should go get Allura–Coran– _someone_  to take his shift. Shiro’s thoughts swam as Keith’s fingers raked across his chest. Shiro twisted off the mattress. The spoon hit the floor with a clatter.

 _Shiro should leave._  He stumbled backwards, his vision fuzzy, and cried out when his back hit the ledge of Keith’s dresser. 

_I know you probably won’t even remember this conversation, once you’re better, but…I swear. I’d never leave on purpose. Do you understand?_

Shiro closed his eyes. He forced himself to uncurl his fingers.

_Pull yourself together, soldier. Breathe._

Perhaps this was the real Keith, and he truly hated Shiro. Perhaps he wanted Shiro out of his life forever. Shiro couldn’t know for sure–not until the fever broke. But he couldn’t abandon Keith again. If there was the slightest chance that Keith would wake up later, free of fever, and wish Shiro had been there to help–then Shiro had to stay. He had to honor his promise.

Shiro clenched his teeth. He snatched up the chair from Keith’s desk, and positioned himself at the far corner of the room.

Shiro settled down, poised to watch Keith on the bed, and let his hands rest on his knees. He waited, heart tight, for Keith’s reaction.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

When Shiro left the bed, he left Keith’s field of recognizable shapes, everything farther than that was a blur. In his haze of sickness he rationalized that since he could no longer see Shiro, that it meant Shiro had left.  _Good,_  Keith growled to himself, curling back up on the blanket.

But he was trembling as he struggled with the fabric, tugging it up to his shoulders and snarling out feral sounds in his newly claimed hatred. He’d went a year without him and he’d been  _fine_. He was better off alone anyway. He nodded to himself, he didn’t need anyone. 

_Especially not Takashi Shirogane._

He didn’t know his temperature had went down another four degrees. He didn’t know all he’d probably need was one more dose. He’d refuse to take it anyway. He fell asleep like that. Angry and shivering. Alone (well, he thought so anyway.)

This time when he woke it was twice as violent. This time he could move and he grabbed for his knife. This time he was screaming an endless cry of “Please! No! Please! Don’t! I can do it! Please! I’ll do it!”

He’d dreamt so vividly that he was still there even with his eyes open. He saw long white hair and a cruel, fanged smile leaning over his shoulder. A voice as sweet as honey and cold as ice, whispered in his ear,  _“Prove it.”_

Keith nodded, his hands suddenly steady as he gripped the blade and  crawled across the bed, thinking it was an arena floor. He paused just before falling off the bed, ducking down to look in the eyes of a man that wasn’t even there. “You said you wouldn’t leave again, you lied… but you can’t get rid of me that easily, Takashi.”

Forcing a grin, not wanting to give the new emperor the pleasure of seeing him cry, he raised the blade to strike. But instead of impaling the Champion, he redirected and slammed the knife into his own stomach, screaming when the impact tore away all the false images he’d created and brought him back to his own room.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Pholo:**

Shiro was slumped in his chair when Keith’s cries cut across the room. Shiro snapped to his feet, nearly toppling his chair, instincts screaming _protect protect protect_ –but Keith wasn’t being attacked. He lay half-upright on his bed, towing his body to the edge of the mattress with one hand clenched around–what? Shiro stepped closer, alarm building in his chest. Keith’s hand was empty. It should have been a relief, but Shiro couldn’t convince his heart to calm down. He reached out to restrain Keith as he spoke:

“You said you wouldn’t leave again, you lied… but you can’t get rid of me that easily, Takashi.”

Shiro felt sick. Keith thought he had left again? 

Shiro’s pause gave Keith enough time to raise his arms. Suddenly the red paladin was slamming his conjoined hands into his stomach, as though aiming to puncture the skin. Shiro moved before his mind could even process the action. He clamped Keith down against the bed again, his hands curling around Keith’s wrists.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promised. “Keith–Keith, it’s okay. It’s all right. You’re right here. You don’t have to–” Shiro stopped to collect himself. He forced his energy inward, digging down until he found some semblance of calm, and pulled the feeling upward until the fear no longer reached his eyes. “You’re gonna’ be okay, love.”

 _Love_. Shit. Keith didn’t want to hear that right now, or ever again. _He probably didn’t want to hear it in the first place_ , Shiro reminded himself. He forced a breath down his pinched throat. His body ached from a bone-deep misery. 

Shiro studied Keith’s face. What had he dreamed about? What had the Shiro in his nightmares made Keith do? Shiro felt the panic welling up again, and he slammed the emotion down. It was time for another dose.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“Shiro! Shiro!” Keith screamed. Shaking and pulled to get away from his attacker, his fingers clawed at the air while they were held in place on the bed. His eyes too blurred with tears to see who had him pinned. “I want Shiro!”

Blinking to clear his eyes, he tried to remember where he was. Tried to get a grip on what was real and what was…  _‘_ _Kill him or I will.’_ the ring of a cold voice cutting through to his core and threatening to drag him back.

Keith had nearly retched at the words, knowing it was not just a threat. He’d come all this way, searched dozens of star systems, only to have it come to this. To have Shiro kneeling in front of him, while he himself was drug across the arena floor by the new emperor and told to kill his best friend. The man he loved, but never told…

 _NO –_ Something was pulling the image away again.  _No, that wasn’t real._   Something reassuring and strong and reminding him of what he already knew.  _Not real. That wasn’t real._

A voice. It called for him. An edgeless tone forming the sound of his name as it was spoken. He  _knew_  that voice.

Whimpering, Keith stopped fighting and lay still as he realized whoever this was seemed only intent on talking and nothing more. He tried harder to focus.

_“You’re gonna’ be okay, love.”_

_Shiro?_  The recognition of the voice, bringing everything back. Voltron. The Blade. Zarkon. Sickness. Pain.  _Anger._

But right now he was having trouble remembering why he was angry.  _How could he be with Shiro here?_

Despite the nagging that that last thought brought with it, the burn of of Keith’s skin, the ache in his gut left in the wake of his own hands, and the renewed spin of his head was back at the forefront of his mind.

“–kashi,” he was crying and couldn’t stop, “it  _hurts._ ” 

 

**Pholo:**

“I know, I know,” Shiro managed. “I know, Keith. I–” Shiro’s hands left Keith’s wrists. He tried to bury the sound, but a low keening noise slipped out between his teeth. He planted his palms over his eyes. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I’m sorry,  _I’m sorry…_ ”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He had to be strong for Keith. He had to be–

Shiro was at the foot of the bed now, crumpled on his knees with his fingers digging into his face. It was no use. He couldn’t think straight anymore. Shiro let his forehead rest against Keith’s mattress, choking on a breath as he said, 

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You should be–back home. Safe.” Shiro stifled a sob, tears catching on his chin. He shook his head against the mattress. “I don’t have a choice, Keith. I have to do this. I have to give you another dose. I can’t–let you  _die_. I can't…”

It was too easy to picture; a scene fresh from his nightmares. Keith’s cold body, eyes wide and glassy, his muscles coiled with rigor mortis. A funeral, held on whatever barren wasteland the Galra hadn’t plundered yet. A future that stretched on and on like the cool tendrils of space, devoid of love or heat or purpose.

“Please,” Shiro begged. He didn’t even know what he was asking. “Please…”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**sheithfromvoltron:**

_Another dose? Of wha—oh…_   _he remembered._  

He remembered the pain of the last dose, but that’s it. He didn’t remember what he’d said or that he’d chased Shiro away, he just knew it hurt and his hands were trembling at the thought. But Shiro was just so upset. Keith didn’t want that. Couldn’t handle that. If there was anything Keith could do to fix it, he would. He always would.

Keith fumbled across the bed attempting to find the stupid vile.  _Another dose…_ he could do that. Growling when he found it, he held the medicine tight in his fist like it would try to get away.

Scrambling back to Shiro’s side as fast as he could manage, he pulled at Shiro’s sleeve and nudged at his shoulder with his nose. “Sh-Shiro? It’s okay.” Keith wriggled trying to get into his friend’s lap. “I’m… I’m gon-na be okay. You said– You said so and– and I trust you.”

Forcing the lid off the vile, he pressed the glass to his lips and swallowed the remaining medicine in one gulp.

The chill of pain was instant and worse than he remembered. Hissing through his teeth, the vile slipped from Keith’s shaking fingers and he pushed harder into Shiro’s chest.  _This is for Shiro. This is for Shiro. For Shiro. For Shiro. Shiro…_

Somewhere in his mind, Keith knew that the medicine was for himself —that he needed it— but he didn’t care about that. He didn’t care that his temperature was now only two degrees above normal and dropping. He didn’t care that this was the last time. He’d take the coppery medicine ten more times if it would just make Shiro happier.

That thought are his chest tighten…  _Why? Why did he feel like he was forgetting something? Why did Shiro seem like there was more to this then just Keith being sick?_

_Why did he feel like he caused this?_

The last needling shocks of ice  _finally_  subsided and Keith groaned. He felt better. Which was good. And it was a relief to be able to look around and not get dizzy… but part of him was disappointed.

It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help letting out a few whimpers that he’d been holding back and curled tighter. He just wanted to be held by Shiro a little longer before the man realized that he no longer seemed to be dying and they went back to the normal close but not nearly enough friendship.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro couldn’t believe it. He dared to peek out between his coiled fingers, and felt his heart stutter when Keith drew the vial to his lips. A moment later and the awful potion was gone, away down the line of Keith’s throat. Shiro tensed, braced for another attack–for Keith to faint, or lash out–but Keith simply sagged forward. He fell against Shiro’s chest, and at Keith’s whimper, Shiro felt his arms rise on their own volition. Shiro’s hands found Keith’s back. He arranged himself on the bed covers, pulling Keith the last leg onto his lap. 

Shiro bent his head with a final, desperate sob. He pressed his nose to the crook of Keith’s neck, burying himself in the sensations of Keith’s body–the smell of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat.  _Alive, alive, alive._  Relief soared through Shiro’s body like liquid light. This last dose had to take. It had to.

“Keith,” Shiro gasped. “Keith…” 

He hadn’t had to give Keith the last dose.  _He hadn’t had to hurt Keith again._

Shiro’s fingers clenched and trembled around the fabric of Keith’s shirt. Shiro couldn’t help himself; he held Keith close, with the knowledge that he might never get the chance again. 

“Forgive me,” Shiro managed. “I promise I’ll never…I’ll never touch you again, after this. But just…please.” Shiro could feel himself shaking. “Please just let me…hold you like this, for a bit longer. Just let me be selfish and perverted. For a couple minutes. Another second. I can’t–I can’t let go of you yet. Not yet…”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith couldn’t get close enough and he was relieved that it seemed to be the same for Shiro. The fact that Shiro had pulled him into his lap, wrapped his arms around him, and was clinging to Keith had the red paladin’s head feeling light for a new (and much more welcome) reason.

But it all came crashing down with seven words strung together in what Keith swore was the worst sentence he’d ever heard.

_‘I promise I’ll never touch you again...’_

“No! No, Shiro, no. Don’t say that!” He hated hearing such words coming out of Shiro’s mouth. Hated that Shiro thought it was wrong to want to hold him. Not that he even understood why such a man even  _wanted_  to hold him of all people, especially like this when he was clingy and whiney and overly honest.

But Keith wasn’t about to point that out. Not when Shiro was  _asking_  to give him everything he had wanted for much too long. Not when Shiro was still holding him like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do.

“Be selfish with me, Takashi.” Keith whispered as he wedged closer, burying his nose against Shiro’s shoulder. “Please! Please, be selfish with me... so I can be selfish, too.”His voice was muffled and the fact that he couldn’t see Shiro’s face made him feel farther away. And Keith wasn’t having that.

With a little more then a bit of effort, He lifted his head to look at Shiro. His leader. His best friend. “I don’t... I don’t want you to let me go. Not ever. So please, just... please, just...” his voice trailed off, too tired from the medicine and the sickness and the desperation coursing through him to even realize he’d quit speaking.

_Please, just take it back. I’ll die. I need... I need this. I need... you._


	10. Chapter 10

**pholo:**

_“Be selfish with me, Takashi.”_

Shiro tensed. His reply was unintelligible, muffled by the fabric along Keith’s shoulder. A few scant words found their way to open air; bits and pieces about love and fear and arenas. Keith was warm against Shiro’s torso; so perfect and real. Shiro held on. He let Keith ground him like he always did.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shiro said finally, at Keith’s next words. He should let go of Keith.  _He needed to let go of Keith._  “A minute ago you told me you hated me. Now you–” Shiro struggled not to bite his lip. “You…you’re sick, Keith. I should–”

But as Shiro studied Keith’s eyes, he felt himself startle. A tiredness clouded Keith’s gaze, but there was a sharpness to the way he looked at Shiro; an edge that the fever had chiseled down to powder.

Shiro only half felt his flesh hand move from Keith’s back. He braced the back of his hand along Keith’s forehead. His skin felt warm–but not hot. Not feverish. Another surge of relief had Shiro drooping forward on the bed. He longed to run his fingers through Keith’s hair again; to pepper his face in kisses.

“You feel better,” Shiro rasped. “Oh my god. Keith, tell me you’re better. Tell me you mean what you’re saying.”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“Hate… Hate  _you_?” Keith shook his head at that, “I could never, Shiro, I couldn’t… I… I…” Swallowing against the words he was still afraid to say, he whispered, “You’re my best friend, Takashi.”

The words stopped the moment Shiro’s hand touched Keith’s forehead, his knuckles felt cool and familiar against his skin. He watched the man’s expression change, but didn’t quite understand why Shiro had been so surprised that he wanted to stay like this. He didn’t understand why was he being weird and saying he doesn’t want to let go and that he won’t touch him and that he’d said he hated Shiro?  _Did he say something when he was sicker? Shiro had to know that what ever it was, it was just the fever talking… didn’t he?_

Keith nodded as Shiro sagged forward, “I’m… I think, I’m better.” He frowned, “Of course I mean it. I don’t lie to you, Takashi, you know that.” He wanted to talk more, but it was a fight just keeping his eyes open, especially given that he was still curled in the embrace of his friend’s cool frame.

“Shiro?” Letting his eyes close, he nuzzled his face along the man’s shoulder until his nose was pressed to his neck. “I want to, hmm… I want to talk, but I’m… I’m tired. Can we— Can you lay with me for a little while? Please?”

 

**pholo:**

“I’m your…” A relieved noise escaped Shiro’s throat. He smiled, scrubbing a hand across his cheeks. “Keith. Thank you.” At Keith’s further reassurance, Shiro felt the fist around his heart uncurl by degrees. He wanted to believe this Keith was the “real” one–but he’d fallen for this trap before. Shiro remembered before the fever turned violent, back when Keith had asked him to lay and cuddle–and Shiro had been so eager to take advantage of the situation. His gut churned at the thought.  

Shiro clenched his fingers, feeling Keith’s shoulderblades through his shirt.

The anger had to be an outlier–a product of the fever. Keith was asking him to do this again–now, when his eyes were warm and free of fever.

_Please let the anger have been fake._

“Okay,” Shiro breathed. How could he turn Keith down? It was all he’d ever wanted; to hold Keith close enough to feel his breath against his ear–to lay curled around him until Keith understood how much he loved him. It was so easy to fall prey to the fantasy. “Talking later. Of course.”

Shiro folded Keith against his front, easing them sideways down onto the bed so that they were pressed chest to chest, Shiro’s left arm slung over Keith’s side. Shiro nestled forward, resting his chin atop the crown of his head. High off Keith’s earlier encouragement, Shiro surrendered to his own selfishness. He carded his fingers up and down Keith’s spine, memorizing the shape of Keith’s body under his hands.

“You’re safe,” Shiro promised, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith let Shiro shift him and lay them down and pull him close. Relieved that the man seemed to believe him, he sighed and closed his eyes. For extra reassurance, he fisted his hand into the other’s shirt; twisting the black fabric around his fingers so that he would know if Shiro tried to leave again.

“Better be, hmm… er else…” he mumbled into his friend’s chest, more than happy to be nestled against it. Drawing in deep, slow breaths (now that it didn’t hurt), Keith tried to burn the scent of  _Takashi_  into his lungs as he drifted.

———

Pidge had programmed the castle’s lights to dim and brighten with the timing of an Earth day, so the current darkness of the room as Keith opened his eyes let him know that it was night.

The arm still around his waist let him know that Shiro had stayed. And besides the discomfort of his clothes still damp from fever, the only thing wrong as Keith woke up this time was that his fingers were slightly numb from how hard he still clung to Shiro’s shirt. And that wasn’t something he could bring himself to regret.

Not when Shiro’s words replayed in his head.

_‘I promise I’ll never…I’ll never touch you again, after this.’_

It stung thinking that Shiro would stay to true to his word and distance himself after this. That he’d have even less of his best friend once they left this room.

The thought made him want to cling tighter and never let go. It made him want to shatter every damn wall that he could already feel raising back up around his heart. It made him want to tell Shiro exactly how he felt.

It made him want to scream and cry and beg Shiro to stay, even though he wasn’t making any move to leave yet. Keith was scared to let it get that far. Terrified to know what Shiro leaving him again would do.

_‘I swear. I’d never leave on purpose.’_

The sentence threaded slowly into his thoughts, replacing the previous one. It was hazy and Keith felt like he was missing part of it, but his mind said it in Shiro’s voice making him wonder if it was real. But he knew it could just be a lingering effect of the sickness, just something his own mind had conjured up to make himself feel better.

Allowing himself to take in the fact that everything was still for what felt like the first time in forever, Keith took a deep, steadying breath. He focused on the soft rise and fall of Shiro breathing against his own frame and the comforting scent that surrounded him just as well as the man’s arms did despite how faint it was.

“Shir— Shir—” his voice was weak and came out as a gravelly rasp when it broke the silence. Swallowing, Keith leant his head back a little to try and look up at Shiro in the darkness. “—kashi?” he coughed, “Are you ‘wake?”

 

**pholo:**

A gentle voice stirred him from sleep; Shiro tensed, only to relax again as his fingers twitched along the line of Keith’s back. That’s right. He was in bed with Keith; he must have fallen asleep. And Keith wasn’t sick anymore. Right?

“’M awake,” Shiro confirmed. He combed his hand up Keith’s shoulder, then moved to feel Keith’s forehead. He gave a relieved smile. “Fever’s still gone, I think. Thank god.”

Shiro wilted back against the bed, his body melting around Keith’s. His memories of that day were still fuzzy, softened by his unexpected nap. For a moment he simply lay there, soaking up Keith’s company, before his brain caught up to his body and his arms went stiff.

The medicine, the dreams–shit. Shiro felt a bizarre urge to scramble out of bed. He and Keith were too close, curled around each other like this. Shiro didn’t trust himself not to slip up; to reach down and press his lips to Keith’s. A familiar voice rose up in his head:

_You’re taking advantage…_

No, Shiro snapped back. His heart was pounding; he shifted downward on the sheets, pressing his forehead to Keith’s as though in rebuttal.  _Keith asked me to stay. He asked me to be selfish. He wants me here. Keith wants me here._

“How are you feeling?” Shiro choked out. This wasn’t about him. This was about Keith’s health–what Keith needed. But Shiro couldn’t seem to slow his pulse. He’d trained himself to keep his distance for years, and now he and Keith were tangled together on a bed, noses brushing, the darkness warm and cocoon-like, and Shiro was paralyzed.

_You’re not going to hurt him. You’re not going to hurt him. He’s okay. Calm down. You’re being ridiculous._

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith felt Shiro tense and he nearly let a whimper slip.  _Not yet. Not yet._  He couldn’t let go yet.

He wasn’t ready. (He’d never be ready.)

“Shiro,” he sighed the man’s name when their foreheads touched and he couldn’t help himself from closing his eyes. "I’m okay.“  _As long as you’re here._

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sick, his memory still groggy from sleep and medicine (and denial). "Shiro? …This —my fever— it was a  _galra_  only sickness, right?”

His fingers uncurled from their place on the older paladin’s shirt and Keith tried to stretch the ache out of them, then brushed the angle of Shiro’s jaw. _Had he ever touched Shiro like this before?_ He didn’t think so, but it felt right. Of course it did. It was Shiro and everything with him felt right.

Keith didn’t remove his hand, instead he followed the strong jawline up to Shiro’s ear, traced around its shell, carefully trailed his fingers along his cheek bone to his nose, where Keith traced over the scar.

“I hope you won’t get sick just 'cause I couldn’t… just ‘cause I made you stay with me.”  _Did he make Shiro stay?_  He must have.  _Why else would he still be here?_

_'I hate you.’_

The phrase hit Keith’s consciousness so hard he nearly cried out. He saw a flash of Shiro’s face looking ready to fall apart, saw him start to leave and stop…

_‘I know you probably won’t even remember this conversation, once you’re better, but…I swear…’_

The rest of the conversation swirled just out of reach.  _What had Shiro said?_   _What did he swear to? Was that why he’s so sad?_

“Taka—Shiro,” Keith corrected himself as his protective walls locked back into place, “are… are you okay? I didn’t  _hurt_  you, did I?”  _Please, please, say I didn’t._

 _'I hate you.’_ The awful phrase hissed through his mind again and Keith  _knew_.

He swallowed noticing his hand was resting on Shiro’s cheek, his thumb still stroking the scar. He had no right to touch Shiro. Not when he was the source of the man’s pain “I did. I did and you still didn’t leave?” He was shaking. “Shiro… Shiro, I’m so sorry.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**pholo:**

Keith’s fingers found Shiro’s face, and Shiro’s heart stopped. He felt the cool prickle of the sheets, and the heady sensation of Keith’s fingers on his face–the thrum of his pulse against the walls of his skin. There was a pause. Then Keith’s fingers moved up Shiro’s jawline, winding around the shell of his ear. His fingertips settled on Shiro’s nose. He traced Shiro’s scar like it was something beautiful.

Shiro felt himself melt. The sheer tenderness of Keith’s touch–Shiro bit his lip hard enough to hurt, but a pained whimper still snuck past his teeth.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“It’s okay,” Shiro persisted. The heat was back behind his eyes. He forced himself not to sniffle. Stupid. “You’re right. It’s only a Galran sickness. And you didn’t make me stay; I wanted to be here.”  _I’ll always want to be here,_ Shiro didn’t say. The words hung on the edge of his tongue; he might have fumbled and spoken them aloud, but then Keith’s eyes widened, and concern made Shiro pause.

_ “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” _

Shiro didn’t know how to respond to that. His heartbeat resonated through his whole body; Shiro felt his hands start to tremble again, and he flexed his fingers like he could shoo the fear away. His silence stretched on until it became an answer. Shiro’s heart sank at Keith’s next words.

“Of course I didn’t leave,” Shiro choked out. “It’s like I said; I wanted to be there for you, Keith. I promised you I would never leave again. And you didn’t–” Shiro’s breath hitched, and he stopped, blinking furiously. “Sorry,” He rasped. He tried for a chuckle. “Guess it was just…kind of a long day. I mean–Christ. You were the one who was sick. Sorry. Again.” Fuck. “What I meant to say was, you didn’t hurt me. You were delirious and you said–” Shiro had to bite his lip again. He forced his mouth open and pressed onward: “You said some things that you didn’t mean.”

A pause. Then a hiccup of breath, like a poorly-masked sob. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, and a tear trailed along the line of his nose, down onto Keith’s hand. “Keith, you have to be honest with me,” Shiro said. The words tumbled out of him; he couldn’t stop them if he tried. “I’m  _begging you_  to be honest with me. Please don’t try to sugarcoat it. It’ll be better for both of us in the long run if you just–” Shiro’s eyes were shut tight enough to see stars. He sobbed, openly this time. “If you just–”  

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

No.  _No!_  He wasn’t supposed to make Shiro cry, he was meant to keep it from happening.  _Make it stop. Make it stop! Keith_  wanted to grab Shiro. Wanted to hold him as close as possible. Wanted to tell him it would be all right. But his silent order to himself triggered a flood of memories as it tore through his mind.

He remembered waking up to Shiro holding him in the cryopod. He remembered begging Shiro to make his pain stop. He remembered nightmares and pain and asking Shiro to lie to him. He remembered pleading to be held and hearing Shiro call him ‘honey,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sweetheart,’ and ‘love.’ He remembered being selfish and cruel, but Shiro had stayed anyway. He remembered the fear and hurt (never anger) in Shiro’s eyes, but mostly the fear mixed with… something else that made his chest feel tight.

He remembered  _everything_.

“Shiro… Takashi, I… I—” Realization hit Keith like a truck. And he froze, his thumb stuttering it’s stroke on Shiro’s scar. He felt like his whole world was collapsing and exploding in the same moment and vaguely wondered if that was how a supernova felt. “You love me,” he mumbled the singular thought that now occupied his mind before jolting forward and crashing his mouth into the other man’s.

“Shiro,” Keith whimpered into the kiss, pulling away before Shiro had a chance to reciprocate or tell him to stop. “I meant it, the things I said in the beginning, I meant all of it.” He was still couching at the older man’s face, “I need you here with me. I want you to hold me and kiss me and tell me things will be okay and that you’d fight to say with me. I need you, Shiro.”  _I love you._


	13. Chapter 13

**pholo:**

_You love me._

_No,_  Shiro wanted to say. _No, you’ve got it wrong._  Or,  _I’m so sorry._  Because there was no coming back from this. Once the truth was out, there was no way to maintain that easy intimacy. The burden of this conversation would follow them everywhere, looming in the shadow of every hand-brush, every shoulder-squeeze, every goodbye hug.

_You love me._

It was true. Shiro loved Keith so desperately he was lost in it–in the glances they shared over briefings, in the way they sagged into each other on movie nights–in the laughter and the fear and the quiet, and the prayer-like “be careful”’s before battle.

Sooner or later Shiro would have broken from the strain of pretending–of preserving his aloof facade. At least now he was getting things over with. He opened his mouth to apologize and felt lips on his.

This couldn’t be real. It absolutely  _couldn’t_. There was warmth on Shiro’s chapped lips; a hand still steady on his cheek. Shiro’s breath was a messy thing, ripped out of his chest in a rush. Another tear rolled down his cheek. He wanted to press back into Keith’s kiss–to memorize the feeling of him before he slipped away forever; before the miracle became a dream and he woke up alone–but Keith was gone again before he could move.

Keith’s next words took a while to register. It was all too good to be true. Shiro didn’t deserve this. His right hand moved on its own accord, fingers finding the side of Keith’s face. He’d never found an excuse to touch Keith like this before today. Shiro cradled Keith’s cheek in his palm, the metal rattling a little from the shaking of his hand.

“I need you too, Keith,” he finally managed. He wished the tears would stop; he squeezed his eyes shut, but they escaped out of the corners. “I’ve wanted to hold you–to kiss you–for so long…I felt–like I was taking advantage of your sickness to–” Shiro took a moment to breathe.“If you’ll allow me to, Keith–of course I’ll stay. I love you.  _I love you_ …”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith leant into the touch, eyes closing slightly at the gentle warmth.  _They could have had this before._  He should have told Shiro sooner. It shouldn’t have taken nearly dying—  _Was it even that bad? Was that even a risk with this sickness?_  Shiro was sure acting like it had been, but maybe…

As Shiro’s words finally sunk in, Keith turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to the warm metal wrist of the hand cupping his cheek. “Shiro,” he breathed more than spoke the words, “you would never do that. I know you. I  _trust_  you.”

Keith pushed closer, until he was tightly aligned to Shiro, their foreheads still touching, and their mouth’s less than an inch apart. “Allow you? Shiro…  _Takashi_ , I’m  _begging_  you.” The fingers still gently resting on his best friend’s face started back on their pattern. First rubbing the edge of Shiro’s scar, brushing along his cheek to wipe the tears, tracing around his ear and down his jaw before beginning again.

“If you  _ever_  disappear again, if you even  _think_  about leaving me behind, Shiro… I promise —I  _swear—_  Shiro, I will find you and drag you back to me because…” Keith’s jaw clenched and his eyes burned with tears threatening to spill if he kept talking, he continued anyway “…because I  _love_  you. I’m  _in_  love with you. And I have been for so long and I can’t… I can’t lose you. Not again. I refuse… I… can’t… I won’t. It will  _kill_  me.”

 

**pholo:**

The noise that came out of Shiro’s throat was hopelessly broken—a whine caught around a sob. He pressed his lips against Keith’s again, finally letting himself believe. His fingers clenched around Keith’s back as their noses brushed; he drew back for breath, only to duck back in again to pepper Keith’s forehead with kisses. He brought his hands up to cup Keith’s face, cherishing the shape of him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shiro promised, as he paused to catch his breath. He could barely think for happiness; it felt like something bright and warm had swept him up in its arms, stoking a fire in his chest. “I’m never…God, Keith. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to touch you like this…” He gave Keith’s cheek one last peck, then tilted his head back a little to meet his eyes. 

Keith loved him. Keith wanted him at his side, always. The war—his own trauma…In this moment, Shiro knew they would survive. The realization made Shiro laugh. There was just so much joy in him; he couldn’t keep it in. 

“Wow,” he managed, letting his love show in his smile. He sniffed, and ran a hand over his eyes. “I’ve never cried out of happiness before. But here we are.” Shiro leaned forward a touch, just enough to make their noses brush. “Thank you, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> find us on tumblr at [@sheithfromvoltron](sheithfromvoltron.tumblr.com) and [@mighty-trash](mighty-trash.tumblr.com)


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